


Featherfall - You're not my Cas IV

by Hard_boiled_candy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel & Vessel Interactions (Supernatural), Angel Vessel Consent Issues (Supernatural), Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), M/M, No Sex, Sharing a Body, Wing Grooming, Wing Oil, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 16:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18742984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hard_boiled_candy/pseuds/Hard_boiled_candy
Summary: Continuation of a series in which the canon Cas is dead and a Castiel from a universe in which both Dean and Sam are dead arrives here after season 12.Dean copes with Castiel having an arrested molt while Sam's away. He learns that the AU Jimmy Novak is not neatly tucked away into a corner of Castiel's mind, and in fact, has quite a crush on Dean. The Non-Con is Dean realizing that sometimes Jimmy's driving.In this fic Dean is fine with Castiel being asexual, and parts of it are medically rather disgusting, so if you can't deal with a giant demonic zit, hit the back button now.





	Featherfall - You're not my Cas IV

Whatever got Castiel all messed up, it was big. 

It was just before suppertime on a Thursday, when the lights flared and blew from one end of the bunker to the other. Glass rained down, tinkling. For almost thirty seconds he could hear nothing, then the glass made a clicking sound as Castiel – or someone – transported it to the trash.

“Fuck,” Dean said, looking up into the gloom.

Sam was on the highway, headed north, as part of his ongoing mission to be the den mom to every other hunter between Minnesota and the Mexican border. He needed the time alone; losing more comrades to Michael – and then losing Jack – had left him grieving and wild with anger at himself and his circumstances. 

He could hardly stomach looking at Dean, who last year sometime had decided that whatever thin slice of comfort he could get from this cold-eyed angel, he was going to take. Dean had explained it very simply, “I get to actually sleep and not dream about hell and Michael all fucking night, and he gets a nestmate. I don’t care if it looks gay, because I don’t care if it is gay, and I don’t care that it ultimately doesn’t matter. He asked me. We’re not having sex. It’s just,” and he trailed off, and saw the hurt in his brother’s eyes because even after they’d given Cas a hunter’s rites, Dean had still managed to put off a twisted fucked up version of happy ever after, somehow, even if it was with the wrong angel, and it was just too much.

Dean had never felt the weight of the suffering Sam had experienced over the course of his life more than in that moment. 

So he was alone with whatever this problem was. It was just him and Castiel, although Rowena popped in now and again for research and a proper cup of tea. He might need Rowena.

Her reaction when she’d learned they were sleeping in the same bed but not having sex – Castiel had let it drop, which surprised Dean – had really stuck in Dean’s craw. He wrinkled his nose as he thought of her.

“All the shit we’ve been through and you think that’s the weird part?” Dean remembered bitching at her. “We’re not each other’s original, this is just how things turned out, I sleep better, and fuck you.”

“Whatever you say, Winchester,” Rowena said, with that slight, wide-eyed emphasis that could turn the time of day into a vengeance-worthy insult.

She wasn’t here to help or hinder right now, whether she was on speed dial or not. He found his flashlight and looked for Castiel. Dean heard a groan, a heartstopping noise that made it sound like he was crazed with pain, and he finally located him in a corner of the library. There was a fluttering noise, but he didn’t rise. He seemed surrounded by shadows, and Dean’s heart started to hammer. What had gotten into the bunker that could hurt Castiel?

“Castiel! You okay? Talk to me, buddy,” Dean said.

There was a ripping noise, and then the unmistakable flutter of wings. There was a kerosene lamp in most of the rooms for backup, and Dean found and carefully lit it. As he lifted it, he gasped.

Castiel was sitting on the floor, almost wedged into an alcove. He was surrounded by books, as if he had ripped them out of the shelves on his way to the floor. He was naked from the waist up, which did nothing to slow Dean’s pulse, because part of Castiel’s nature was bodily modesty. His own Cas, never so much, but Castiel’s bare minimum was a t-shirt and cargo pants. He was crying hard, having trouble breathing, and hiding his distress behind his hands. 

He had wings, big black suckers like the intersection of Void and Darkness, easily ten feet across.

Dean gulped and then frowned. “What the hell ya crying for, dude, they’re just wings!”

“They shouldn’t be here,” Castiel said. He took a deep breath and mastered himself. “There is some kind of problem; I can’t molt in the etheric plane.”

“So, molt here,” Dean shrugged.

“You don’t understand,” Castiel said.

“I never do, until you explain it,” Dean said, in a coaxing voice. Fuck, those wings are awesome, he thought, a half-smile accompanying his admiration.

“Winchester!” Castiel said, trying to warn him off, as Dean approached him. Dean shrugged and ignored him. “C’mon up, we’ll get you back to our room.”

“I could die!” Castiel cried out, and flinched as Dean reached for his bare shoulder.

“Sure, like I’d let that happen. What’s the drill? What do I do?”

 

The words came out gasping, guttural. “There is no ‘drill’! This is unprecedented.”

“Well, if it’s unprecedented, how do know you’re gonna die?” Dean asked, with what he thought was calm logic.

Castiel wailed. Every book on the shelf, every cell in Dean’s body, every speck of dust in the bunker, shook with it. Dean covered his ears and thought his eyeballs would burst if it kept up. Castiel fell silent after four seconds or so.

Feathers began to fall.

“Let’s get you lying down,” Dean said again, and helped him up, or tried to. His flashlight abruptly dimmed, and he shook it in irritation. Castiel seemingly now weighed a ton; Dean knew to the ounce how much he weighed and now he felt like both his brother and Castiel were leaning on him at the same time. He found himself grunting with the effort of moving him.

As the feathers came out, it snowed night, all around him. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Dean knew with absolute certainty that he was in no immediate danger, since Castiel would have warned him with his last breath if there was any possible harm coming. It was strange, and scary as fuck, though.

As if in response to his thoughts, the bunker became lighter, and now he seemed hemmed in by sweetly scented wisps of grey fog. More feathers came out of Castiel than seemed physically possible, and they were falling or floating everywhere.

Castiel was wildly panting in a way Dean had never heard him do, as a deranged animal might. They staggered towards Room 11, and as they arrived, the last feather fell. Feathers and down lay ankle deep around them, as Dean pulled him through the door and lay him face down on the bed. 

The wings, now bald, were pink and grey in a sort of broad camouflage pattern, or like the skin of a pig, maybe. An angel-piggy? That made Dean shake his head at himself. His wings had brushed against Dean’s clothing and face as he’d had struggled to stay upright, so he knew they were dense and muscular, and radiating heat.

Castiel was even paler than usual. Where his wings attached to his back was red and bruised-looking at the bottom. Dean sat next to him and said, “I need to take a look, bud, figure if this is magical or physical, or what.”

Now that he was lying down, Castiel was able to speak. Dean shook his head as he realized what Castiel was saying. “It’s a magico-physical manifestation caused by my dirty grace.”

“Your grace isn’t dirty,” Dean responded. Maybe his grace was weird and multi-dimensional and not the original grace he was issued with, but it wasn’t like he said. He sighed. “But you think your blended grace is dirty.” He laid his hand on his friend’s wing. Castiel shuddered and went still.

“Your hand feels – comforting,” Castiel said. 

“That’s good,” Dean said gently, dropping his hands to the sore spots.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean said, jumping back. “Your wings are red fucking hot -- and getting hotter.” As he ran his hands over them he could feel them radiate, almost too hot to touch.

“Help me!” Castiel cried. Dean ran to the bathroom, soaked a couple of towels and threw them across Castiel’s back. 

“Oh,” Castiel said. He panted for a second, his eyes out of focus. 

The wet towels helped Castiel cool off. His breathing was now moderately fast and shallow. “Winchester, I understand what’s wrong now. The wings are not complete. They are being blocked from finishing the molt.”

“What’s missing?” Dean asked, frowning. Castiel rolled onto his side to look at Dean. Watching him force himself to speak nearly ended Dean. He was obviously in pain, but he didn’t stop.

“Nothing. There is a speck of – demonic energy which is acting like a – bathtub plug. Under – natural circumstances – water runs downhill and – the energy to have a molt – on this plane –works the same way – it naturally flows into my wings. The –”

Dean interrupted him. “Easy peasy, we do an exorcism,” he said.

Castiel squirmed. “NO! No, you can’t. It has to leave – without violence – or it could make all the points of contact – between the etheric plane and – my wings collapse – or explode.”

“Holy shit. Maybe holy water? Balm of Gilead? Should you even be in the bunker?” Dean asked helplessly.

Castiel shook his head just enough to be seen. “Take me outside,” he said weakly, and lost consciousness.

Dean refused to allow himself to panic. He used a gurney, which was in the bunker for god knew what fiendish Men of Letters experiments in decades past. He got Castiel into the garage, and more or less dragged him across the cul-de-sac, where he laid him out, again face down, on a blanket he pulled out of the back of Castiel’s truck on the way by.

To leave his possibly-dying best friend to do research back in the bunker seemed like a fucking terrible decision, even if it was a fine afternoon stretching into the evening, and a comfortable temperature to be outdoors. Dean lay down next to Castiel and put his hand between his shoulder blades. Castiel didn’t waken, but he whimpered, and not really understanding what he was doing, Dean started kneading Castiel’s wings, sliding his fingers from next to his back up to the weird finger-type bones he had at the top of his wings, smoothing and pressing and massaging. Once in a while Castiel sighed, but not in a pained way, so Dean kept working.

To his disgusted surprise, a black, gunky, swirly substance, that smelled like sulphur and burned like lye when it got on his skin, started to pulse out of one of Castiel’s largest feather follicles, close to the top bend in his right wing. Dean immediately turned Castiel onto his side so it could drip out onto the ground. 

The smell was ungodly, even for someone like Dean, used to crawling through vamp nests and rugaru dens. He started experimentally squeezing it a little, like the most atrocious zit in history, and probably another cup of pure demonic horror came out, expanding and steaming and hissing as it departed from Castiel’s body. It slowly started to evaporate, thank god; Dean had already been dreading the prospect of policing that mess up.

“You fucking owe me,” Dean muttered. “Knowing that you’d do the same for me without a hiccup doesn’t help.” He grunted and made a disgusted face. “Jesus, that’s foul.”

He massaged the base of Castiel’s wings and ran his hands along it, pushing up to the top. He could feel a little relaxation at the base of the follicle as the ‘demonic bathtub plug’ let go. There was one last runny strand of goo. As the goo spun it took the shape of a man shaking his fist and noiselessly yelling. Hallucination or not, Dean watched as it smoked off, and Castiel regained consciousness.

“Oh,” he said weakly. “I think – I think it’s okay now.” He tried to stand, and Dean said, “Easy tiger,” and got an arm around him. They slowly returned to their room and Castiel fell into a natural sleep - or as natural a sleep as an angel gets while in a vessel - and Dean kept watch on him with a flashlight in case there was any more demon-goo. 

Very slowly, the pink and grey of his naked wings shifted in colour, and became darker, until it was much closer in color to the black of his wings. Castiel’s breathing was even and the fever that had scared Dean so badly was gone, although his wings were still significantly warmer than the rest of him. He didn’t look like he was going to explode or die anymore. Since he was no longer worried about that, he fell to thinking about how strange it was they’d ended up together like this.

They didn’t talk about the physical aspects of how they were together much, or indeed, ever. Castiel was used to nestmates and sleeping communally; there wasn’t anything sexual about it for him, just the comfort of someone’s presence while he rested. Every once in a long while Castiel felt more physically affectionate than that. They had kissed a few times, memorably, and it was agonizing for Dean, because he’d promised himself that he’d accept what was offered without complaint or resentment, and because despite his closeness to Castiel he felt incapable of having a proper conversation about it. There were too many ways things could get misunderstood, too many sharp edges, and too much angry grief held in check by a thread, to make anything easy.

But it had been like that with his Cas. Nothing much had changed. He’d die for this Castiel, too. Comparisons about his level of commitment to his partner no longer seemed to matter.

Dean woke in the darkness of his room. He felt something rubbing against him and came awake completely, startled and apprehensive. Dean realized that Castiel was still deeply asleep and rubbing the edges of his wings against convenient angles of his body without being aware of it.

Dean turned on his back and chuckled aloud at the thought maybe he’d accidentally get lucky. Instead he got a very bizarre massage. It continued for many minutes; Dean felt very calm and happy; it wasn’t really like sex at all, even apart from Castiel not truly being awake to stop it or consent or whatever. Dean let himself enjoy being fondled and pressed down by his soft, strong, warm wings, which were ever so slowly starting to grow feathers and down. 

After about half an hour, the largest follicles on Castiel’s wings began to weep oil. 

Dean remembered something about angels and grooming that Sam had read aloud to him once and he began to massage Castiel back, moving the oil around and stroking it down to the wingtips. More came out, and he kept massaging it. At first, touching it made him tingle, and the fragrance made him uneasy, having been drugged by such things before, but once again, a feeling of peaceful, warm safety overcame his hunter instincts. After half an hour of it, he truly felt drugged, rubbing, stroking, caressing Castiel in every way he could without being sexual. He put his face between Castiel’s shoulder blades and tried to inhale him. If the situation hadn’t been so dire he would have felt ecstasy.

The angel woke up. 

“Dean,” Castiel said.

Dean’s voice cracked as he turned his bedside lamp on. “I’m Winchester, remember? Not the original?” He never stopped moving the wing oil around, though.

“Can we stop,” Castiel said. Dean, swallowing hard, let go. Castiel continued to stroke him, but more gently.

“That’s not what I meant. Can we stop –– can we stop pretending?”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“Dean never did the right thing from instinct,” Castiel said. He was so matter-of-fact that for a second Dean didn’t really understand the words. “I thought it was enough to be partners. Don’t you think of us as more? More than partners?”

Dean backed up emotionally as well as physically. “I did what anyone would do.” His words sounded stupid to his own ears.

“No, Dean,” and Dean flinched a little. 

“I don’t want to you to call me Dean,” he said, petulant. His voice sounded thin and childish. A moment ago he had experienced peace and joy, just touching Castiel, and now he was burning his own heart to ashes on the altar of an angel he’d never see again; Cas was dead and gone. 

“As you wish. I must tell you that unless you help me with one last thing, I will be quite sick for a while - I don’t know how long - I certainly won’t be able to hunt with you.”

“Anything. You know I’ll do anything to help.”

“No, not anything. If you won’t let me call you Dean, there’s not much point asking you for this.”

His wings seemed to crumple. He shook himself a little and then folded them up so he was no longer in any danger of touching Dean.

“It’s okay,” Castiel said. His wings were saying something different. “It’s not the outcome I wish for, but I accept it.”

After a moment, Castiel said, “I’ll need another room in the bunker, and I’ll recover faster if you don’t touch me.”

“What? Why? Because I don’t want you to call me Dean?” he said, angry and frightened into his bones.

“No,” Castiel said. “That’s not it.” He rose, bobbled a little, and then left the room that they’d shared for nearly a year. Dean followed him, helplessly wondering what he could do to fix things. This looked like the bleeding edge of a life-shredding disaster.

He found himself putting down the kerosene lamp and launching himself at Castiel and hugging him from behind, around his ribs. Castiel sighed, and sagged backward against him. Dean abruptly realized that he was so much heavier than normal because his wings were real in this plane. The sore parts of Castiel’s back suddenly made much more sense, and Dean realized that Castiel might still die because his vessel was strained to the max.

“Anything,” Dean breathed into the back of his angel’s neck. “You belong with me, I won’t let you go,” he said, louder, not gentle, but defiant, against anything that might possibly separate them. He had tightened his arms without realizing it.

“Ah,” Castiel sighed. His wings visibly began to fill in. Feathers that were a yard long pushed out in front of his eyes.

“You’re mine,” Dean said. “I’ll do anything you ask me.” He set his jaw.

“Not until you know what you’re committing to,” Cas said. He chuckled, then turned a little and put his hand on the wall. “If you fly with me, you are committing to be my bonded nest companion for the rest of our lives.”

“But – that –” Dean stammered.

“Winchester,” Castiel said after a minute.

“I thought that’s what we were,” Dean said quietly.

Castiel smiled, and looked down. Then, making his warning in a more serious tone, “We must fly together, and I have no time to prepare you; it will be a lot more pleasant for me than you.”

Dean said, “What, like a mating flight?”

“It is a ceremonial flight to mark the special trust, friendship and healing that is an everflowing bond between us.”

Dean dully repeated, “Healing.” Castiel just asked me to angel-marry him.

“We have healed each other. I have healed you with touch, as you did just now.”

“Oh.”

“And as long as my wings are in this plane -- or at least this portion of them - we can do this now. I might not –” and Castiel paused, looking as intensely as he could into his eyes. “There are other things I should tell you but there’s no time.”

Dean felt overwhelmed. He swallowed, trying to understand what was happening, and realizing that all he could do was trust his angel.

Dean put up his right hand. Castiel put up his right hand to clasp his, and they were elsewhere. 

\----

Castiel was immense and he was tiny. He felt like a tick clinging to a deer, as it bounded, swift and purposeful, through a forest. He felt Castiel’s thoughts come at him like a warm hand holding him up: “You are mine, and I am yours, and you are saving me by doing this.”

Dean thought back at him, “You’re so huge, I feel like a pipsqueak.”

Again, he felt suffused with warmth and love, even as they hurtled through the galaxy together.

“Your soul makes you bigger on the inside than even God could say for sure,” Castiel thought, and they paused in their headlong flight to stare up at a beautiful nebula.

“I come here,” Castiel thought, “When I need to remember how things will end.”

Dean, despite the stunning grandeur of the view, was curious enough to ask. “How?”

“In new creation. The bond we now share is part of the structure of the universe, and all of the universes. We made something beautiful from something broken; we made a new order from disobedience; we knew to cherish innocence because it had been stolen from us; we learned to love when we thought we were unworthy. Our experiences were wildly different. I don’t even belong in this iteration of the multiverse.”

Dean thought, “You belong with me. Something’s bothering me though.”

Castiel’s voice in his mind was warm and amused. It was unusual, and also, kind of awesome. “Are we having a ‘speak now, or forever hold your peace’, moment?” Cas breathed.

“Well, kinda. I mean I’m not backing out, but… when you die, you won’t go to Heaven, right?”

Castiel’s thoughts took the shape of a sigh. “No.”

“So it’s just for my lifetime, and then I’m in Heaven, forever, without you. I mean, unless I go darkside again, who the fuck knows – ”

A different voice bloomed in Dean’s mind. “Are you going to tell him or am I?”

There was a hideous silence. The stars continued to be beautiful. “Something tells me,” Dean said, “That I’m about to find out about the stuff you couldn’t tell me. Who’s this?”

“Jimmy Novak,” the voice said.

Dean said, “Okay, who exactly is it that I’m marrying? I mean, just another day in the life of a hunter, but jeez.”

“It’s not a marriage!” Castiel said, obviously flustered.

“I told you he’d see it as a marriage,” Jimmy said.

“I completely forgot you had a soul to go with the vessel. I didn’t think I’d break my bachelor streak by getting married to two guys in a single day.” Dean said bitterly. 

“This is all Jimmy’s doing!” Castiel protested. Jimmy made a disparaging noise in the background. “And we may be able to trick Heaven into sneaking me in with Jimmy’s soul. I mean, I wouldn’t have a physical presence in Heaven but at least I’d be there with you.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.” They spoke in unison.

“I’ve been doing research,” Jimmy said.

“How? You’re locked up in Castiel’s head!”

“I’m not locked up. I volunteered, Dean, remember? That much was exactly the same in both worlds. Castiel has given me the freedom to access his memories, and I learned something interesting. One is that Castiel has memories and knowledge I can access that he can’t. We aren’t sure why; we think that when we were flung here Castiel veiled himself in my soul, which is something a powerful angel – seraph or higher order – can do to conceal its angelic nature from demons and other enemies. However it happened, we’ve become far more entangled than vessels and angels normally do. The normal protocols and safety features are more like suggestions, now. It’s possible – it may be possible – to put the last hundred years or so of Castiel’s memories into a piece of grace and have it ride me into Heaven, when Castiel releases this vessel. In exchange for me volunteering to do this, Castiel will be letting me drive for a few hours a week.”

“How many is a few?” Dean asked suspiciously. One helluva honeymoon.

“One night of sleep; an hour a week to videochat with Claire.”

Castiel spoke. “Tell him. Soon we must return, Dean’s not answering his phone and Sam’s worried.”

“Tell me what. There’s more? This is all so – “

“Over the last year I’ve fallen in love with you,” Jimmy said. “It was not what I expected, and I felt torn over my Catholic teachings,” at which point Dean wasn’t feeling the honeymoon flight at all anymore, and said, “I’d like to go home now,” and they were back in the bunker, on their bed, in the dark.

In consequence of being jammed back into his body after etheric travel, Dean had to choke back bile for about a minute before he could speak again. Castiel didn’t seem to be in his head anymore. “So this is how you get around the no sex for angels rule, I take it?” Dean said. “Did you talk Jimmy into it?” You bastard was the unspoken follow-up to that.

Castiel said, from his perch next to him on the bed, “Most of it was Jimmy’s idea. He said that in this reality, you could have it all, and no-one would need to know but the three of us.”

“Well, I think you’re both nuts, and you’re grossly, dead wrong about how smart my brother is, if you think you could run a scam like that without Sam noticing,” Dean said. “I wanna divorce,” he muttered into his pillow. Riding around on celestial being was exhausting, and now that he was home and nothing appeared to be burning or screaming, he slept.

He woke up because Cas was screwing light bulbs into the fixtures he’d blown out in their room. They exchanged a stare.

“You asked for a divorce,” Castiel said conversationally.

“Oh, I know I can’t back out,” Dean said. He didn’t hold back on the bitterness.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Dean banged his head in disgust against his pillow. “No, and don’t ask me again. I want a solution that works for all of us.”

“I don’t know what to say, Winchester.”

“Call me Dean, it won’t kill me.”

“Dean. I know it’s a big concession, thank you.”

“A bigger concession,” Dean said, his voice rising in volume, “than me trying to not freak the fuck out after you springing on me that some dude living in a corner of your head wants to bone me? And that this means you hand over control of the vessel but you’re watching on Pornhub live for the duration?” Dean coughed and laughed at the same time. “I mean, how the fuck would any of that work, let alone stay a secret, what with Sam and Rowena poking around and asking me if I’m okay all the fucking time.”

“Dean, you’re a man, and you have needs.”

“Needs I willingly sacrifice - well, most of the time, I’m still jerking off as required - to be with you.”

“I know you crave the company of women,” Castiel said. He sounded sympathetic.

“I don’t crave a damned thing, sexually, if it means that I might hurt you, or piss you off,” Dean said. There. He’d said it. He should have said it before the ‘mating flight’ which, like every other time he’d been flying, had been a scary rip-off. “If I want to hear a woman’s voice I’ll call Jody and spend the whole call bitching about you.”

“I’m almost flattered.”

“I feel seen,” Dean said with terrible sarcasm. In a rather different voice, he said, “I went for this deal because I wanted you to stay. You are good for my mental and physical health. I would die for you, cheerfully. You are the best friend I ever had. I did this so you wouldn’t leave. Asking me if I want you to leave is just killing me, man, don’t do it. I know Jimmy’s in there, but I don’t want to interact with him until I’ve had a chance to talk to Sam.”

“What?” Castiel cried, alarmed. “No!”

“You’re his angel-in-law, fucking well better not lie to him by omission! Sammy and me, we’ve been clowns at this rodeo for a long, long time, and we get in trouble when we don’t tell each other shit, every – goddamned – time. So, I’m sorry if secrecy doesn’t meet with your agenda or with Jimmy’s Catholic guilt, but Sammy’s getting told as soon as he comes in the door.”

____

It didn’t happen quite as Dean planned. Sam arrived and Castiel’s eyes narrowed. After a second, Dean knew why. It was subtle, in fact almost undetectable, but both of them smelled Rowena’s perfume in the backwash of Sam’s passing. Castiel and Dean traded knowing glances as Sam started a laundry and ducked into the shower.

When Sam came back into the map room, Dean said, “How long you been banging Rowena?”

Sam’s cheekbones went pink. “I’m not – involved with Rowena.”

Castiel was solemn. “We’re not suggesting that you are. However, I detected that aromatics matching her perfume came out of the bag when you opened it.”

“So, the banging question. How long, where, when, etc.,” Dean said casually.

“I had a – consultation with her.” Now his nose was pink. 

“A naked consultation,” Dean said, nodding. “With sex toys.”

“Dean! It isn’t like that and – damnit, I’m only human.”

“And she’s – a – witch,” Dean said, as if he was holding up fingers for the concussed.

Sam’s nostrils flared and his lips turned pale as he compressed them. “I know you hate witches. I know you can just barely stand Rowena. But I see a lot more of her than you do, and my feelings for her started with respect.”

“So, it’s a very respectable banging she’s obtaining from you?” Castiel asked, apparently serious.

Dean and Sam stopped in shock, and then burst into guffaws.

Sam stopped first, of course. “Really, it’s none of your business,” Sam said, shaking his head just a little. “But I guess you do have to know, so we are officially friends with benefits. There, the dog’s out. Can she sleep over in my room now?” His cheekbones got all pointy, as they did when his smile was not so nice.

“I have no objection,” Castiel said, not taking the bait.

Dean shrugged. “Sure, but if she says a fucking thing about me and Cas here, she may not like my reaction, capisce?” Dean got a mean smile on his face as Sam reacted to the ‘Cas’ which Dean had dropped so casually.

Dean put his boot into Castiel’s plans. “How about you Jimmy? Got an opinion?”

 

“What?” Sam said, looking rapidly between the two of them. He narrowed his eyes and focussed on Castiel.

Castiel looked blank for a second. “Jimmy says he’s Team Rowena,” Castiel said.

“What? We’re consulting Jimmy now?” Sam said with unease. “I thought he was –”

“Yeah, Sammy, picture my surprise when I’m going on my honeymoon cruise and turns out some creeper’s been lying in bed with me. Well, since Jimmy the creeper seems to have an opinion on everything without necessarily wanting to share it, I thought I’d open up the floor.”

Castiel was woebegone. “Dean, this is hypocritical, hurtful, and beneath you.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow, just so. “Maybe, but we’re all here and Sam’s sitting down. Explain what was happening back at the ranch while he was getting an oil change at Rowena’s.”

Sam’s blush darkened into anger, but he kept his gaze on Castiel. “I think I caught honeymoon cruise. Did you become bondmates with Dean?”

“Minimal devotion to the details of the rites was paid,” Castiel said, returning to his normally bland style.

“Translation,” Dean said, “He and Jimmy totally winged it. Or wung it?”

“Congratulations,” Sam said. He embraced Castiel and said, “It’s my honour and privilege to also welcome you to our family. I consider you my closest friend and I really hope it stays that way.” He gasped, and said, “Holy shit, I’m crying.”

“It wasn’t that big a deal, seriously,” Dean tried to sound casual.

Sam rounded on his brother with a look of astonished irritation.“Castiel flew you around the cosmos visiting his favourite places with you, and it wasn’t that big a deal?” 

“I’ve killed various gods and a fuckton o’ monsters and seen a lot of weird shit in between. I am kinda hard to impress. Anyway I could totally tell it was his shindig, so I let him have it.” Dean seemed to think he was the easiest-going groom ever, and Castiel had pulled some bridezilla shit on him. It was horrible, normal and excruciatingly Dean, but Sam was spared the effort of a civil response when Castiel spoke.

“I would have flown him to Saturn, but he was angry and tired and wanted to go home,” Castiel said. “I admit it, I was disappointed.” Sam’s face as he realized Castiel was describing the behaviour of a toddler was priceless.

“Failing to mention that by that point Jimmy was yelling in my ear.”

“Jimmy does not yell. He is strong in his opinions.”

“If you two don’t stop talking like the other one’s not here, I’m going to lock you both in the dungeon, but far enough apart that you’ll get bondmate sickness.”

“Ooh, better not,” Dean said. “For all I know Jimmy wants to tie me up and whip me.” Then he said, “Bondmate sickness?” in a hesitant voice. 

“Potentially fatal,” Sam said. He swallowed. Dean realized he was serious.

Castiel said, in his most soothing voice,“Don’t scare Dean.”

“What’s bondmate sickness?” Dean said, a lot louder.

Sam said, “If I remember the lore correctly, it’s when there’s an unexpected separation between the bondmates or something that disturbs the nest-building.”

“We just go to sleep as usual, Dean, nothing about our routine will change, because we’ve already been sleeping in the nest for a year.”

“You mean my awesome memory foam bed. And excuse me, but you said you’d leave if I wanted you to. You didn’t tell me you’d die if you left, just that you’d get sick.”

Sam stared at them both as if they were incorrigibly idiotic, and his subsequent eyeroll ensured they knew he was now giving up and leaving the room. Sam stood. “I’m going to make some veggie burritos and leave you to it. And say hi to Jimmy for me. I wouldn’t mind speaking to him if you can spare him.” Sam sauntered away to the kitchen.

“I think I want to speak to him first,” Dean said, menacingly. “Put cheese in mine, goddamnit!” he yelled down the hall to his brother.

“Soy cheese?” Sam called back.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? NO!” Dean bellowed. You could hear Sam give a trollish laugh.

“And you think that me becoming Rowena’s latest boy toy is somehow more tangled than your personal life? Hey, Dean? not even close!” Sam yelled back.

“His walk is much less tense.”

“She’s like, half his size,” Dean snorted.

“The human vagina is a marvel of engineering,” Castiel said, and then, face reproachful, “Dean, it was not meant to amuse.”

“But you so often do amuse the crap out of me. It’s one of the reasons I like having you around. I just don’t think I could ever get tired of it.”

He sighed.

“Well, let’s get it over with. Let me talk to Jimmy. Give us ten minutes by ourselves and then come back.”

“Dean, this is a terrible idea,” Castiel said. 

“Stand aside, Hubs, you can’t protect him forever,” Dean said.

Castiel vanished. In his place was a terrified man, whose abject posture and wringing hands made him look like a cartoon character.

“Sit the fuck up straight, Jimmy; if you went to parochial school ya should be able to at least manage that,” Dean said, in a less than welcoming way.

“I would like to apologize without reservation for anything I said to cause offense,” Jimmy said. “I was forward and invasive to your privacy and I gave Castiel terrible advice.”

“You damned near killed him,” Dean said, his voice deep and loud. Jimmy flinched.

“I thought for sure you wanted to have sex with Castiel. It seemed obvious to me. Now I know I completely misread it, and I, I’m just so sorry, it’s just that your behaviour with women –” and he finally raised his eyes to Dean’s.

“You can shut right up, any time, you know,” Dean said. “I’ve been thinking about this conundrum for a decade. I’m used to your face, but my partner is Castiel. If Castiel was okay with having sex with me while in your vessel, that would be great – but he doesn’t. But I won’t pressure him because the way Sam explained it, way back when, he doesn’t associate sexuality with desire. The way I show my feelings for him is by leaving him the fuck alone sexually, for the rest of my life, if need be. I never thought I’d ever be like this, but I’m over forty and it’s just not as big a deal as it was even five years ago. You probably know we’ve kissed.”

“I encouraged him. He wasn’t convinced you enjoyed it. He said you seemed dutiful.”

“Well, shit, Jimmy, one time he shoved a bigass chunk of grace into my mouth and fucking near scared me to death, and the other time, well, that one I really enjoyed.”

There was a long pause. 

“Oh, don’t fucking tell me.”

Jimmy was not making eye contact and abjectly humiliated, if his body was anything to go by. He was barely audible. “I begged him to let me try. I only stopped when you pulled back as if you were having second thoughts.”

“I thought Castiel had gotten bored, or that was enough of an experiment for him. And of course,” Dean added, glaring at Jimmy, “I wouldn’t have kissed you at all if I’d known it was you.”

“There’s something else.”

“Oh peachy, more body swapping wacky fun,” Dean said.

“It’s a clarification. Castiel was letting me drive one night a week so I could sleep.”

Dean had heard a lot of astonishing things that day but this was too much. “What?”

Jimmy went to repeat it and Dean waved him off. “I heard you. Why the hell would you sleep if you were driving?”

“Apart from my family, it’s the thing I miss most. When you’re a vessel, you’re awake when your angel is – which is all the time. I have physical contact with you, which is very calming even though I’m sleeping through it, and I sleep, REM sleep, which is very restful, and I dream, which gives me new experiences I can think about while I’m not driving.”

Dean considered this. Then he returned to his theme. “Jimmy, you need to get out of there. My Cas’s Jimmy’s been in Heaven for years.”

“All the research I’ve done tells me that we’re a human-angel grace-soul amalgam now, and we’ve got no way of getting the two of us into a properly separated state unless Chuck himself intervenes.”

Dean snorted. “Not much chance of that.”

“No, as you would put it, he has left the building.”

“Sam would describe this as an impasse.”

“Not if I go back to being completely silent as far as you and Sam are concerned, and never driving.”

The volume went up. “Jimmy, I would know you were there, besides which you and Castiel have a different arrangement than Cas and his Jimmy ever did.”

“It’s because of the interdimensional passage, and collision, before we arrived. Castiel had memorized thousands of volumes of lore, in hundreds of languages but they were knocked out of his mental reach. For whatever reason - probably because we are a very well established vessel-guest dyad - I can see them and pass the knowledge to Castiel. I’m not a passive vessel. We’re partners.”

Castiel was abruptly back.

“Well?”

“I’m going to go eat,” Dean said.

“What about Jimmy?”

“What about him? Tell him no funny business while we’re asleep and I’ll pretend I’m not pissed off that I’ve actually been sleeping with two different dudes for the last year.”

Castiel was annoyed. “I’ve never tried to hide that Jimmy’s there.”

“Your reputation has been saved, hallelujah. Now, let’s plan our real wedding and really give Sam something to cry about.”

“Dean!”

“Castielllllll! Which fake ID do you want to use?”

“Dean, don’t joke about it.”

Dean thought about getting down on one knee, and mentally blew past that part. “Castiel, will you marry me, so we can at least visit each other in hospital?”

“You’re not angry about Jimmy? As for getting married, we can fake the ID for that any time you want.” 

“What, so people will think I feel the same way about you that Sam feels about Rowena? You got your ceremony, I’ll get mine, hopefully with fewer gate-crashers.”

Castiel made a noise.

Dean shrugged. “C’mon, what happened wasn’t his fault, or yours, and neither of you would even be alive if Cas hadn’t stashed that grace in my ribs.”

“He was a superb tactician, at times,” Castiel said.

“He kept you alive, although he had no way of knowing that would be the outcome,” Dean said. “Tell Jimmy to keep up the research. Maybe we’ll come up with something to keep us all happy. And if we don’t, I still have you and Sam, and right now that’s enough.”

“I want to show you Saturn someday,” Castiel grouched.

“No more destination honeymoons for me,” Dean said. “You know I hate to fly.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it - comments always welcome! Subscriptions welcome as well!


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